Chapter 4
Scarlett
Cormac steers me further past the lobby and to the elevators. One is open and waiting. Inside, the car is snug, dark wood-paneled, and creates an intimacy I should be cautious about. But I’m not.
I hit the button for the sixth floor, and the door closes. Tension is a third person in this car. When we stop at the sixth floor, Cormac reaches for the keycard to see the room number.
Taking my bag from me again, he says, “It’s this way.”
We amble down a thick carpeted corridor and stop at Room 604. Cormac swipes the card through the lock pad. It beeps, and he pushes the door open.
Holding it for me, he says, “After you.”
I step ahead of him, feeling heat come off his tall frame. Immediately, I notice the room is narrow, but warm. The bed is neatly made, and raindrops dot the windows.
Feeling the city glow from the streetlights on my face, I say, “Looks like the rain stopped.”
Cormac steps inside and closes the door. The sealing-shut noise makes all of this a lot more real.
I try to smile, but my skin feels stretched thin across my muscles and bones. Tremors rise to the surface, but I force them away. I feel safe with him. There’s a vibe I’m connecting to, but I don’t know why.
After dropping my bag on the low dresser, Cormac stays on the other side of the room with his arms folded. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute. You hit your head.”
I look for a place to sit, given the drenched state of my clothes. A metal and vinyl chair tucked under a desk is the best choice.
“This is a nice hotel,” I say, struggling to take off my coat. “Have you stayed here before?”
“No,” he says and crosses the room to help me out of the wet jacket.
Then he unzips his wet coat and takes both to the bathroom. He comes back, and I get a better look at him. He’s around six-one, six- two. But it’s his breadth that makes him seem taller.
“You look a little dehydrated.” He walks to the minibar and opens a bottle of Evian sitting on top.
As he pours the expensive water into a cup, I gaze at the interesting tattoos etched on the tops of his hands.
Without his coat, I see more dark ink on his forearms and even his neck.
Calligraphy letters scroll across his collarbone and above the neckline of that threadbare T-shirt tucked into ass-hugging cargo pants.
Whoa. There’s something about him that stirs my blood.
He turns back to me and hands me the water. “Here.”
“Thank you.” I take the cup, and it nearly slips from my hands. I hadn’t even realized they were shaking.
“Hey,” he says softly and covers his hand in mine, steadying me.
“I’m okay,” I say, thinking my clothes are already wet. And with him near, I’m getting wet in other places, too.
What am I thinking? I met him ten minutes ago when he almost ran me over. But the semester starts in a couple of weeks. This is my last chance at freedom and bad decisions before I submit to the strict structure of medical school.
Once I step foot back on the Hamilton campus, I might as well have a bag on my head. No man will go near the dean’s daughter.
I take a sip and immediately feel energized by the cool water. But it does little to snuff out the fire raging low in my belly.
“More?” He holds out the bottle.
“I’m good,” I say, steadying my voice so he doesn’t see me so wounded anymore.
What is it about this stranger that I’m so drawn to? Like I’m the moon, and he’s the earth, gravity is pulling me towards him.
Cormac crouches down in front of me. Assessing me. And not looking like he’s ready to leave just yet. Does he feel this tension between us, too?
“What happened with your boyfriend that he hit you and then put you out on the street?” he asks with a low rasp.
“Oh, uh, he asked me to marry him, but I said no,” I make sure that’s clear. “That was yesterday. Tonight, I came home and found him banging his sister-in-law in our bed.”
“Jesus, what an asshole.”
“I agree.” I exhale. “He was wearing a condom. So, I guess at least he’s not a stupid asshole.”
“I’d like to find him and cut off his dick,” Cormac grouses, showing a slight wearing away of the wall he put up once he set foot in this hotel room with me.
“I wouldn’t ask you to do that for me,” I say.
He reaches for my hand and brings the water back up to my lips. “Drink.”
Feeling bold, I touch his inked fingers around the cup. His bulging veins everywhere suggest he could break bones with a bare fist.
Cormac is the opposite of Pierce. He looks rugged, like a working man. And he’s so goddamn handsome. It’s not even a matter of opinion. He looks dangerous, and I don’t care.
With my fingers still pressed against his, they slide from the cup to the ink on his hand, tracing one bold line of black. His breath changes. Barely. But I hear it.
Cormac straightens slightly, awareness humming from him. “What do you want, Scarlett?”
I stare into his eyes. And I say the only truth in my heart right now. “I want the pain to go away.”
The air changes density as I brace for him to leave me here alone.
“How?” His voice gets low. “Be specific.”
“Stay,” I whisper. “For a little while. Make me feel… Something else. Not whatever this darkness is. Something…better.” Heat blooms in my chest where I bury fear and doubt.
Something dark crosses over his face. He takes a step back and asks, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” I laugh. “And I’m not a virgin if that was your next question.”
He stares at me like he’s calculating the consequences. Like he’s assessing the sensitivity of the bruise on my cheek and if the tremor in my hands is a sign that I can’t consent. Most of all, I sense he’s deciding whether touching me would make him feel better or worse.
He lifts a hand to my bruised cheek. “If I saw this happen, your jerk ex would already be dead. Turning cold. I’d very much like to fuck what used to belong to him.”
Despite the violence in his tone, his touch is smooth and warm.
“Kiss me, please,” I say, my breath shaking.
“Come here,” he murmurs, rising just enough as he draws me toward him.
His mouth meets mine, and the kiss is slow at first. A sigh escapes him that lets me breathe, too. He deepens the kiss and runs his hands through my wet hair.
A growl echoes in Cormac’s chest as a dark tension snaps. “You taste sweet.”
“So do you.” I trail my lips under his stubbled jaw.
Shaken, he stands up and guides me toward the bed. His grip on my waist sends a spark down my spine. Heat collects at the base, spreading warmth to every cell below.
He sits and pulls me down on his lap. Tattooed fingers stroke my jaw. God, his hands are so warm, his touch so gentle. That changes when he pulls on my wet ponytail and nibbles on my neck.
His hold on me is strong. Alarmingly strong. Something electrical charges the air around us.
I have to get naked and let him have his way with me. I want this night burned in my brain. I don’t care that he almost ran me over, and that I’ll never see him again.
Cormac studies me with steady scrutiny. Stroking my skin exposed at the opening of my V-neck T-shirt, he says with strangled hesitancy, “Are you sure you want this? Want me?”
“Very much,” I say confidently as I squeeze my thighs and feel wetness in my core. “Do you want me?”